it’s the kind of day that makes you want to step outside and absorb your surroundings, which in my case are mostly trees, home to several clans of rowdy, roosting bats and their young. meanwhile, the clouds above veil the sun in a delicate film so the late april light is silvery, making the street appear almost moonlit. and the people of male look better than they have in a long while.

but i am not down here for this sole reason – my friend ahandhey is enroute to meet me. we haven’t really met in almost a year and have a lot of catching up to do. he is a busy man, a single dad, a job that i think he does remarkably well. he’s like a soccer mom, only he’s a man.

‘i’m not going to oxygen,’ he says immediately after arriving.

‘when did we ever go to oxygen?’ i ask, getting behind him on the scoopy.

‘you went for their buffet remember? it was horrible.’

‘is that right? anyway, we’re going to cibo.’

‘i thought that was oxygen for some reason.’

strange fella, ahandhey.

at the restaurant, we order a farata and butter chicken masala for him and chili chicken and rice for me.

the order arrives and it flusters my friend.

‘why is there so little meat?’ he complains and the server is a little dumbstruck. ‘can you bring me more chicken?’

‘er do you mean more chicken masala?’ asks the timid server.

‘no, i want more meat. this is too little.’

i am enjoying the show, eating my chili chicken with a decidedly small degree of pleasure. finally, the man agrees to order a second chicken curry.

‘and bring me extra farata too.’

then he turns to me and says:

‘what are you smirking at? tell me one good thing that came from you millennials!’

and here i am to defend a construct that supposedly includes me. and worse, nothing comes to mind. i am stumped with my mouth full of barely adequate chili chicken.

‘come on, a band, an invention, etc. what did you bring to this world except a belief in mindfulness?’

‘hey don’t knock it man,’ i say.

‘you know what happened to you guys? when grunge was over, which was our deal btw, you walked right into the waiting arms of fred durst.’

‘the point is, you grew up feeding on talentless, sentimental crap so now you’re a bunch of whinging softies,’ he says.

‘huh…’

and then it occurs to me.

‘neon indian!’

‘what’s that?’

‘a musician my age. and jon maus.’

‘haven’t even heard of these guys. mustn’t be very important.’

‘huh, just because YOU -’ i begin.

‘relax man. i wanna know where your radiohead is. where’s your aphex twin? portishead? bjork?“

“well, we’ve got kendrick lamar.”

“and we kanye, outkast, tribe, pharrell.”

“jacob collier!”

“his music sucks,” says ahandhey.

“you’re too ignorant to appreciate his clever harmonies.”

“can you?”

goddamnit.

so, i just sit there watching his stone-like face, those dark, shiny cheeks, the distraught moustache above his small mouth, the straggly growth on his chin. what a man! and behind him rises a towering cloud, like an inverted anvil, a monster among heavenly giants.